


Ever Ever Coming Home

by theemdash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Frustration, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Waiting, pretty when they bleed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash/pseuds/theemdash
Summary: Bucky must feel the tether between them. He may not understand it, but he hasn't strayed. Even followed Steve from D.C. to New York. That has to mean something. Steve knows: that has to mean something.A post-Winter Soldier Bucky haunts Steve's apartment fic.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 129





	Ever Ever Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a response to Get Your Words Out 2020 Yahtzee; **Prompt:** Patient. 
> 
> Thanks to [sopdetly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopdetly/) for betaing.

Bucky never sticks around, but Steve knows when he's been there. A lingering scent of gunpowder and sweat, a hand towel barely askew but not where Steve left it, a warm spot where Steve would have expected the sheets to be cold. Some of the evidence is intentional, or at least Steve assumes it is. Could be Bucky's getting sloppy the longer he goes unchecked and free from his handlers, but Sam hasn't turned up any credible leads to indicate where Bucky's hanging his hat, so Steve's inclined to believe those habits are still intact.

The visits mean Bucky's safe. Maybe not stable, maybe not comfortable, definitely not trusting, but he's close and curious, and Steve supposes that's enough.

* * *

Steve's apartment, a new build in Brooklyn, is on trend. Floor-to-ceiling windows and minimalist furniture appear stylish to anyone who wants to catch Captain America casual at home, and fortuitous to any ex-brainwashed super snipers who want numerous sight lines into Steve's tenth-floor apartment. Not the kind of place Steve would have selected under other circumstances, but he wants Bucky to see him, wants to invite Bucky into his life in every un-intimidating way he can. Also why he leaves the bedroom widow unlatched. Not that a lock would hinder Bucky, but he hopes Bucky understands it's a welcome mat laid specifically for him.

One morning when Steve comes back from a thirteen-mile run that didn't do anything to burn away his frustration, the window is cracked open.

He searches the apartment for other signs. Checks for used dishes, if the milk is depleted, if another orange is missing from the bowl, but it's just the window, cracked enough to drive Steve crazy looking in every shadow for some sign that Bucky has been there.

He swipes his finger along the window sill, thinking he might find a hair, and from the up-angle he sees it. A handprint on the outside of the glass, fingers splayed, palm flattened. Steve presses his hand against it, fitting his fingers along Bucky's and wishing there wasn't glass and air between them.

* * *

He comes home from a mission, shield strapped to his back, blood still flecking his knuckles and quiet anger boiling under his skin. He skipped medical again because no matter how well-funded the Avengers are, superficial wounds don't need to take up their resources.

The adhesive bandages are on the counter when he enters the bathroom. Gauze and antibiotic gel, too. Even a threaded needle.

"Not subtle, Buck," he says to the empty apartment, but a smile cracks his mouth.

He carefully removes his uniform, bared from the waist up, and washes the cuts and scratches. Nothing needs stitches, not by anyone's paranoid standards. Steve would just as soon wait for the cuts to heal on their own in a few hours, but he plasters a bandage over the deepest gash on his forearm. He slides his thumb over the slick plastic, enough of a barrier to pretend the pressure against his wound is from someone else's hand.

* * *

Half the books on Steve's shelf are about himself. Every time a new one comes out, Tony has it shipped with a note that's some version of _please verify for accuracy_. Steve has never once responded, but the Avengers have spent enough time with him to know most of what's written about him is shit.

The latest release appears on his doorstep and Steve leaves it on the coffee table. Two weeks later it's moved, nudged so that the corner aligns perfectly with the glass edge. He flips the cover, letting it fall open to the center spread of photographs. 

He's seen most of the photos before, in the Smithsonian and in the other twenty books already on Steve's shelf. He misses the people in the photos, himself included, but none more so than he misses Bucky. Buck's smile, wry but soft, is something etched in Steve's memory like a dream. 

He flips back a few chapters, eye catching on a flash of something in the margin, and has to go page by page to refind it. In heavy block letters, Bucky's cut into the page, _little shit_. The passage it's next to is about Steve capturing the flag at Lehigh. Apparently Bucky didn't think it was as clever as Peggy had. 

Other commentary scatters the pages. Some make Steve smile ( _punk_ ) and some make Steve proud ( _not true_ ), but he stops on one, fingers caressing the indents of the question until he can hear Bucky's whisper in the written words. 

" _Did you love him?_ " Bucky asks.

"Yes," Steve says aloud.

* * *

He drags into his apartment, fresh from a grueling five-day mission on the other side of the world. The hamper's empty, laundry washed and put away. The towels are folded in half instead of thirds, just like how Bucky used to fold them.

Steve presses a towel to his face, taking deep breaths as he slides down the wall.

* * *

A week passes with no discernable contact. The tension crosses Steve's shoulders, settling between his brows. He snaps when Sam asks if he's all right, backpedaling into an apology as soon as the frustration passes his lips. He tries decaf, like Sam suggests, even though caffeine doesn't really have any effect on him.

He stops sleeping, watching through the windows in the dark, alert for any sign of movement in the shadows. Doing nothing is not Steve's best play. Bucky's the one who could sit for hours in a sniper's nest and find peace. Steve is a pacing tiger, waiting for the opportunity to lunge.

* * *

Six days later, Natasha and Sam take Steve to dinner. It's not an intervention, except the invitation is because they're worried about him. Neither of them use those words—neither of them would—but Nat studies him from the corners of her eyes and Sam's quick with a joke every time the conversation goes stale. They both relax when Steve laughs; they tense whenever he smiles. They know him almost as well as Bucky does.

When he gets home, the lights are off and traffic sounds blow in through the open bedroom window. A figure's prone on the couch, but Steve leaves the lights off as he approaches the unexpected guest and he doesn't reach for his shield.

"Bucky," he whispers.

The silhouette stiffens and turns his face to Steve. In the dim light from the uncovered windows, his skin glows pale. Stubble covers his cheeks, sweaty hair clings to his forehead; despite looking like hell, he's the best thing Steve's seen.

Relief and fear war in Steve's chest as he holds up his hands and lowers himself to a crouch, still several feet away. "What are you doing here?"

Bucky lurches, bending and straining to sit upright. Steve's first instinct is to rush forward and check whatever wound Bucky's nursing, but he squashes down the impulse like he has been for so many months.

"Safehouse was compromised." Bucky's voice cracks around the words, but there's a familiar drawl in the vowels that the years haven't drilled out.

"Stay there." 

Steve draws the drapes, but leaves the window open. Still enough light for two super soldiers to see, so Steve only hits the nightlight in the bathroom when he collects the first aid kit. He sets it on the coffee table and backs away, trying so desperately not to crowd Bucky, but his own tense fear is mirrored in Bucky's wide eyes.

He retreats all the way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and an apple. He'd make a sandwich or pop open a can of soup, but he's not convinced Bucky won't vanish while his back is turned. Actually, he knows it's going to happen, but he isn't ready for it to happen yet.

Bucky's shirtless when Steve comes back, mopping up the blood from a gash on his left side. Tried to take out the arm by disabling the flesh around it. Not a bad tactic, but it makes Steve furious.

"Who did this?"

Bucky snorts at Steve's growl, but doesn't answer the question, snuffing Steve's short fuse. The cut's deep enough that Steve wants to offer to stitch him up, but he knows how well that suggestion would go over if their positions were reversed, so he holds his tongue.

Bucky seals the bandage with medical tape and makes short work of the apple and water. Elbows rest on his knees, hair hangs into his face. He swallows a few times and tilts his head, light catching wary eyes.

They stare at each other like that for a long time, Bucky on the couch and Steve standing across the room, hands hanging ineffectual and open at his sides. Pacificity never sat well on Steve's shoulders, but he's carrying it now, bearing the full weight of inaction so Bucky will stay.

Bucky's whole body moves with his breath, the first sign of his fatigue. He's pretty sure Bucky will sit like this all night, which isn't healthy for either of them. Steve lowers himself to the floor, arms looped around his knees. 

"I can keep watch." It's the best way to offer, he figures. Not asking Bucky to stay, but implied. Open-ended. If Bucky wants to sleep, Steve will watch over him.

Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping forward. He closes his eyes for a minute, slow and deliberate, and then snaps them back open. 

"I came here. Because I knew you would. Keep me safe." His head tilts back, catching the full illumination available in the apartment. His eyes are shadowed in tired, dark circles. "I'm trying, Steve."

Steve presses hope between his lips, a tear slipping down his cheek. "You're doing great, Buck."

* * *

Fingers ghost through the hair on his forehead, startling Steve awake. The hand retracts immediately, and the apology's already slipping through Steve's teeth.

Bucky's an arm's length away, crouched beside Steve where he fell asleep against the wall. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Didn't mean to fall asleep." The light's shifted, the artificial neon of night beginning to soften with sunrise. He uncurls his hand from his knee, setting it palm up between them on the floor. "You okay?"

Bucky cocks his head, gaze averted downward, but Steve's certain his attention is taking in everything around him. No one else in the apartment. Cold air breezing from the overhead vent. Light traffic noise from the window, but quiet compared to what Brooklyn will be like in a few hours.

After a long pause, Bucky shifts from his crouch so he's sitting on the floor beside Steve. He sets his flesh hand palm up between them, not touching Steve's hand, but close enough that Steve can feel the heat coming off it.

Steve slides his thumb down Bucky's thumb, watching goosebumps ignite his flesh. He waits for Buck to pull away, but he doesn't, so Steve keeps up the slow, gentle touch as he speaks.

"You should stay at least through the day."

Bucky's face doesn't change, but he swallows.

"Heal up here. Stay safe here. I'll watch your back." The last sentence comes out a quiet, desperate plea, and draws Bucky's attention. Curiosity replaces the wariness of storm-cast eyes, the skin softening at the edges.

"Someone has to watch you." The words are broken, half-whispered, but his mouth twitches in a grin for a second, long enough for Steve to clock it, but not long enough for him to feel comfortable.

"You do that. You watch me. Always have." He slides his hand into Bucky's, letting the back of his hand graze Bucky's palm. "I trust you."

Bucky's fingers curl around the back of Steve's hand. Steve closes his thumb around fingertips, half-holding Bucky's hand.

"Through today," Bucky finally says.

If that's all he can get, that's enough for Steve.


End file.
